


darkness to blot out the sun

by darthpumpkinspice



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Implied Relationships, M/M, possessed by the dark side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 05:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12646623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthpumpkinspice/pseuds/darthpumpkinspice
Summary: This is what Revan is, what he has become- consumed by darkness.





	darkness to blot out the sun

You fall to the darkness. You’re pulled down violently into the inky black maw of some ancient, hateful _thing_ and swallowed whole, devoured. When it finally spits you back up you are a twisted reflection of yourself, you are _Darth Revan_ , _Lord of the Sith_.

There is a moment of clarity, not the first and not the last. It is a brief, fragile instance where the darkness clears _just enough_ let in some illumination. This is not _right_ , you think. This is not _you._ Yes, your heart has long been hardened by the war, and yes, your soul bears shadows and scars it never used to. But your heart was not stone, and you still _had_ a soul.

You were still a Jedi, Master of the Light, defender of the innocent.

As if they have a will of their own, your hands go up to your face, settling your mask upon it, and it is as if the shadows have returned to blot out the sun. Only darkness remains, and that darkness has a silky tongue, reminding you of who you are: _Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith_. And there are no innocent in your world. There are enemies and there are subjects…and there is _Malak_ , treading the dangerous razor line between both.

You fell to the darkness. But Malak…Malak ascended.

You see him on the battlefield, glowing with malevolence, force aura singing with bloodlust. He roars in vicious delight as he swings his blade- carving a crimson path of destruction through your foes. He is your herald, and this chaos he ushers in is done in your name- you feel as if all this ruin is your birthright.

He is glorious in this moment, perfect, born to be Sith. He turns to you, the skin around his eyes crinkling with cold amusement, and the breath catches in your throat. He wades back through his devastation to kneel at your feet, and you remove your mask to grace him with a smile.

“My lord,” he murmurs. You inhale the scent of ash and fear and feel a heady wave of rapturous pleasure at the victory he has delivered to you. You urge Malak to rise, and you step back to marvel at his exquisiteness. He is distilled darkness and hate, a living weapon in the shape of a man, and he is _yours_.

Years later you will find out the truth: that the darkness that possessed the both of you had a _source_. You were both weak enough to succumb, strong enough to shake free of its control- even with your minds twisted by madness and darkness, you were still _Revan_. You were a man, not a puppet, and in your dreams you saw a galaxy at your feet. In your dreams, a trillion souls bent to your will, and you ruled everything between the stars.

When you wake the darkness reminds you of your ambitions, whispers to you dreams of planets worshipping you as a god. The darkness swirls around inside your brain, and you feel as if you are stuck in a delirious fever-dream.

There are more moments of scattered clarity. One comes to you with Malak, and you turn to him, unmasked and plaintive. “What have we become?”

His disgust ripples off of him, and ordinarily this would infuriate you- that undisguised contempt of you tantamount to betrayal- but now you can only feel ashamed.

Malak’s eyes flash with cruel humor, and _this_ finally breathes back to life the smoldering embers of your fury. You snarl and the force gleefully bends to your will, shoving Malak back down on his knees before you. You feed off of the hot hatred bubbling up inside his chest as he strains against your power, the stone around his knees cracking as he tries to lift himself.

He fails, and after a tense pause he reexamines you with a grudging respect. In that moment you are reminded of Alek, and you find you’re revolted by the creature that kneels before you wearing his skin.

“What have we become?” you repeat, more to yourself.

“Better,” Malak growls.

You stare down at him wordlessly, and allow him to rise. In a swift motion he does, and in less time than a heartbeat he is close enough for you to hear the faint electronic rasp of his breathing. You’ve almost forgotten how massive he is, and you think he could snap your neck with his bare hands were he so inclined.

Something unreadable flickers in his yellow eyes, and you realize he’s seen this thought. You reach out with the force to lightly grip his throat, reminding him you could easily snap his neck were you so inclined, as well.

You brush your hand against his face, tracing down to where skin meets metal. You miss his lips, you wish he still had a mouth to kiss.

Your mask rests against the wall, and Malak summons it into his gloved hand. The sight of it stirs up brutal memories of battles and bloodshed, and you find yourself both sickened and intensely _hungry_.

He offers the mask to you, and your hands tremble with dread and desire as you accept. The darkness purrs as you raise it to face, and the moment of clarity vanishes as you remember who you are. You are Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith. And you will be Emperor of the galaxy, and every being alive will soon fear and worship your might.          


End file.
